The Book of Mormon

This is an older copy I found at my grandma's house, it is from 1920 -- going on 100 years old.  

I was 16 when I knelt next to my bedside, wanting to know for certain . . . if The Book of Mormon was truly the Word of God. I had been taught about my Heavenly Father, and His son Jesus Christ, from the time I was a baby in my mother's arms. She would gently sing in my ear the words to I am a Child of God, and Where is Heaven? I grew up going to primary, learning scriptures stories about prophets, and apostles, of Jesus Christ. We sang simple primary songs of Jesus, faith, and prayer, that are still etched deep in my brain. I grew-up Mormon. I was exposed to The Book of Mormon from infancy. I played with the book as a toddler -- likely coloring on it, or wrinkling the pages (as my children now do). I learned to read from it as a school-aged child. It has been a part of my life from the very beginning of my life. It is all I have known. And being Mormon is not just having a religion -- it is a way of being, a way of living, the air your breath. 

And yet, I am a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. I was born into the faith, but converted in my youth. When I was a teenager, I never doubted the faith of my fathers -- I loved it, I thought it was great. I was not full of doubt and concerns regarding my religion, quite the opposite. It was not until high school when I was confronted with opposition to my belief. I was often challenged by my high school peers regarding religion, and I would fumble as I tried to give an answer to satisfy their accusations. It hurt sometimes. I shed tears. It made me sad that they would hate something that I loved. I loved my peers (friends), regardless, and I loved that they had faith in Jesus Christ. (Most often those accusing me were from other religions, who were taught false ideas about Mormons.) But, as these accusation and religion-challenges mounted, I realized I was spiritually weak. I believed in my faith, but I did not know -- with certainty -- the things I wanted to know. I soon found that I needed to know for myself, if the things I had been taught since birth were true, or not. Little did my accusers know that their actions just forced me deeper towards my religious beliefs -- not away from them, as they had undoubtedly hoped. They wanted to "save" me from hell, I believe it was. 

So, being who I was, and not being satisfied with my current spirituality . . . I was not content with relying on the faith of my fathers. I had to know for myself. I could not live a religion that I only sort-of believed in. Especially one that asks so much from it's members. I had to know. Being wishy-washy religious has never sat well with me. I knew I had pioneer ancestors willing to die for their Mormon religion . . . but what about me? Could I live my religion . . . despite my accusers? 

I was reading yesterday, and the light shone through the window and made an interesting symbol. 

I was determined to know for myself, and so I had only one option. I had to go to my Heavenly Father and ask. My experience was sacred to me, but I would like to share a little of it. 

My religion had been challenged. I was young and confused. I was struggling to know who I was, and why I was even on the earth. I wanted to know if God loved me, if He knew me, if He was really there -- like I had previously believed He was. I was literally driven to my knees, with no where else to turn. I plopped down by my clothes-covered bed, surrounded by my teenage-jungle-mess of a room. I bent my head, closed my eyes, and clasped my hands tightly together. And then I asked, "Dear Heavenly Father . . . . " I prayed and asked my questions. I begged for an answer. I wanted so much more than to just believe . . . believing was not good enough for me. I wanted to know. And without sharing too much, I will say, there was a light that filled my room. An unmistakable glory surrounded me as I knelt pleading. I felt my Heavenly Father's love for me. I knew He loved me. I knew He was there. I knew He could hear me. The Holy Ghost -- which I had never felt so strongly before -- had made manifest to me that my life was not meaningless. I am a Child of God, and He loves me. There is a plan for me, and you. And I knew that the book -- The Book of Mormon -- contained the answers I was seeking. I knew that the book, upon which my faith was reliant, was truth -- there was no denying it. 

I did ask, and He did answer. My faith transformed into knowledge. A knowledge I can never deny. So don't try and make me deny it, you will fail. And if you want to know for yourself, you can ask too. Of course, if you kneel down doubting and hard-hearted, then good luck with that. But if you approach God, humbly, and with real intent to know . . . He will tell you, as He told me. 

And since that day, so long ago . . . I have never doubted. I am confident to say I will never doubt. I know that The Book of Mormon is the Word of God. I know that God loves me. I know who I am. If you take my religion from me, I am nothing. So it is a good thing I have it, and that it is true! I am Mari, a daughter of God. I am a Mormon. And being Mormon makes me happy.